Nostalgia
by branewurms
Summary: A gulf of time stretches between then and now, yet Gilbert finds himself spluttering just as awkwardly as years ago. Short fic. Gil x Oz, mature content.


...

They are thirteen years old.

"Y-young master!" Gilbert splutters as Oz releases his lips. "You can't do that!"

"Why not?" Oz asks innocently. "You don't want me to?"

Gilbert's eyes go wide as dinner plates. "No... I mean - that is - I -" His face turns even redder, red as a ripe cherry, and Oz snickers as he waits for Gilbert's answer. "That's not it," Gilbert finally manages. "I... I don't really mind..." His gaze slides away from Oz's; he's too embarassed to look at him.

Oz answers with a knowing smile, as if he'd already known what Gilbert would say. "Then what's the problem?"

"Because! I - I'm your servant and - and what if somebody sees!"

"That won't happen, stupid!" says Oz. "Didn't I say it already? No one will find us here, so we can play as long as we want."

"But - but -" Gilbert's protests die in his throat as his master's mouth covers his own.

...

They are fourteen, now.

Gilbert's slight body shifts against his master's; he can't quite suppress the slight jerk of his hips as Oz's fingers trace over his spine. Oz chuckles into his mouth and runs his hand down to press against Gilbert's hardened flesh through the cloth of his trousers.

"Young master!" Gilbert yelps, breaking away from the kiss. "What are you doing?!"

Oz tilts his head quizzically and removes his hand. "You want me to stop?" he asks.

The look of panic that crosses Gilbert's face is too much; Oz bursts out laughing. "That's what I thought," says Oz, and pushes Gilbert back down. "Then stop complaining." With that, he slips his hand beneath Gilbert's waistband.

Gilbert squeaks in dismay, though his splutters do not even manage to form words.

"We're healthy, growing boys, right?" Oz reassures him. "We have _needs_, right? It's only natural we'd help each other out."

Gilbert isn't sure that logic makes any sense, but as Oz's hand wraps around his length he can't seem to work out why. They _are_ both young, and Oz's hands are clumsy, but it doesn't matter. Gilbert muffles his cries against his master's shoulder as his vision bleeds to white.

...

Gilbert is twenty-four now, yet his master is still only fifteen.

A gulf of time stretches between then and now, yet Gilbert finds himself spluttering just as awkwardly as years ago. Oz straddles his hips, sliding his arms around his (no longer skinny) shoulders. Fumbling in a panic, Gilbert doesn't react quickly enough to stop his master from kissing him.

His whole body goes rigid the moment those lips cover his; he didn't expect those memories to flood back so sharply, didn't expect those lips would feel just the same. He's still frozen when Oz leans back with a wicked smirk on his face.

"Gil's still cute when he blushes," Oz says, impish.

Which, of course, only makes Gil flush hotter. "You -!"

Oz grins. "I was a little afraid to do that," he admits. "I thought it might be weird, now."

"It _is_ weird!" Gilbert says. "You can't just..."

"Why not?" Oz asks innocently. "You don't want me too?"

Gilbert's chest clenches at the familiarity, his eyes going wide, voice dying in his throat.

"See?" says Oz. "That's what I thought." He leans forward again, but Gilbert shakes himself back to present day, and he pushes Oz back.

"_Oz,_" he says. Not _'young master'_. "Oz, I'm _twenty-four_, do you understand? Not fourteen. I'm not a kid anymore."

Oz blinks at him, and Gilbert thinks he sees something like sadness flicker over his features; but then it's gone, and Oz just grins at him again. "That's right," says Oz. "By now Gil's probably learned lots of interesting things he can teach me, right?"

Gilbert makes an incoherent sound of exasperation. "Damn it, you -"

"Or maybe not," Oz says, tilting his head and laying a finger against the side of his mouth. "Gil was always pretty hopeless, wasn't he?"

"Listen to what other people are saying!"

Oz chuckles, and then his smile turns gentle. He reaches up and softly cups Gilbert's face in his hand. Another pang of familiarity hits so hard he sucks in a breath at the pain of it; but this time the sensation runs deeper, and he cannot even place the memory.

"I already told you, didn't I?" Oz says. "You're not going to get away from me that easily." And then he leans forward - and Gilbert knows it's probably wrong, knows that he should stop him, but his master's lips are on him and all he wants to do is put his arms around that small body and never let go.

At least in this respect, Oz is right; he hasn't really changed so much after all.

...


End file.
